Fayth of Our Fathers
by Never Draven
Summary: [Revision in Process] A DestroyerFiend terrorizes the Al Bhed but what is its reason? To whom can the Al Bhed turn for help when even the Youth League can't help?


A/N: I've recently decided to come back to writing _Fayth of our Fathers _but, reading it over, I also came to the conclusion that it needed a bit of reworking—so, here I go, giving it another try in a slightly different way. This version takes place after the events of the Perfect Ending and also makes the assumption that YRP did _not_ fight and kill Angra Mainyu during the fifth chapter. You can also assume that the majority of the conversations between the Al Bhed are, indeed, in Al Bhed; it just seemed to make more sense to type them in English to avoid any major issues.

* * *

"Pull back! _Back, I said_!"

"Are those orders for retreat, sir?"

Beclem paused. He had risen to his current rank in the Youth League due to his ability to make quick decisions in battle, but this was a bit more difficult; even with the help of the Al Bhed, they were just barely able to keep the destroyer-fiend from advancing, and the losses on their side were massive. Bodies, torn and mangled, littered the red stained dunes and those still able to fight often had to climb over fallen comrades in order to reach an advantageous position. The children and the aged, those who were unable to fight, were secured within the Cactuar Nation, but there was no guarantee that they would be entirely safe, even there.

…things did _not _look good.

"Sir?"

"Fall back to secondary position!" Beclem called, gesturing his order to the remnants of his squad. The remaining able-bodied fighters made a pathetically small group as they gathered at the outer edge of the Al Bhed settlement, but they just needed to buy some time…

"Have you bastards gotten it to work yet?" He shouted to a group of Al Bhed nearby, but his only response was a flurry of indecipherable language. Knowing that he had no time to try to make them cooperate, he instead rallied his remaining troupe for a lost-shot effort.

* * *

"It might be ready, if he'd stop yelling at us every five seconds," Nhadala sighed. "If that's the only help he's going to give, then we were better off not calling the Youth League out here."

"We'd be worse off without them," Gippal shook his head, discarding one tool for another. The machina on which they were working was a modified version of the cannons used against Sin, but they were having problems with the firing mechanism which had a nasty habit of exploding in the face of whoever tried to use it. Given the fact that so many had already been killed or injured in the fight, Gippal was rather unwilling to give the go ahead to use the machina until he was sure that it would work. "At least they're buying us some time."

"Yea, but it looks like they're already at their limit," A third Al Bhed, Berrik, observed. Sitting back on his heels, he let his wrench fall to the desert sand as he adjusted his goggles. "Which is fine, since I think she's finally about ready."

"You willing to bet your life on that?" Nhadala challenged, eyeing the man skeptically.

Berrik snorted. "Are _you_?"

"Yea, well, that doesn't really matter since _I'm_ going to be the one firing it." Gippal interrupted. "You guys can go back and tell Beclem that it's ready to go, alright?"

Berrik was on his feet almost immediately. "Yea, okay. Good luck with that death wish."

Nhadala was not quite as quick to leave. "Be careful, Gippal; don't do anything stupid."

"Stupid? Me?" Gippal just smirked and rubbed a greasy hand against the back of his head. "I'd never."

"Right," she responded with a short laugh. "I'll make sure I remind you of that when all this is over."

"I'll be looking forward to it."

Once the other Al Bhed were clear, Gippal took up position behind the cannon. Turning his head, he could easily see how desperate the battle had turned for those fighting on the frontline, but he purposely focused his thoughts on aiming the machina properly. For these brief moments, he focused on his breathing, on the smell of grease from the machinery, on the warm feeling of the mechanism under his fingers; really, anything that would pull his mind from the sounds of battle and the noise of the injured and dying men was a welcome distraction.

It seemed to take an eternity for Berrik and Nhadala to get down to Beclem's squad, but those still able to move were quite quick about getting themselves to safety. Gippal would have laughed at this, if he weren't so focused on getting the machina to operate properly. For a panicked moment, he thought that it wouldn't work at all, but then the cannon cut loose with a focused beam of light which struck the destroyer-fiend directly in the chest. With an outraged roar, the fiend turned to retreat.

…and then the cannon exploded.


End file.
